


Asi

by avani



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani
Summary: The first words Shakti says to the Queen Mother are, “Leave me be.”





	Asi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egelantier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelantier/gifts).



> For egelantier, who likes Sivagami in all her tragic glory, stories of loyalty, and outsider perspectives, all of which I do too! Please enjoy this last minute treat!

The first words Shakti says to the Queen Mother are: “Leave me be!”

They are said in ignorance, because while Shakti is not a clever child, even she knows enough not to be intentionally rude to royalty. She assumes it is only the matron of the royal women, come to see why the newest member of the Queen Mother’s household hasn’t come to dinner with the rest: a kind gesture from a kind woman, which means Shakti resents it all the more. She does not want kindness. She wants to go home, even if home means shouts from her grandmother and arguments between her parents and her brother boxing her around the ears for borrowing his weapons without his permission. 

The Queen Mother is not kind. The Queen Mother certainly does not allow her to return home. The Queen Mother only raises her eyebrows: any further utterances are unnecessary. 

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Shakti mumbles, studying her toes, stubbed and soiled though they are.

“It is not my concern that you are happy,” says the Queen Mother, without preamble or pretense. “You are not here to amuse yourself. You are here only to ensure your father does not take part in any further ill-considered insurrections against me, and for that I need only guarantee your safety.”

Shakti knows this, all too well. She does not look up.

“But were I you,” and at this the Queen Mother’s voice softens almost imperceptibly, “and if I were to live in this palace for the foreseeable future, I should try to make it as pleasant for myself as possible.”

“By doing whatever Matron says?” 

“By doing whatever I must to eke out some joy.” Were Shakti older, she might wonder what brings the weight of experience to the Queen Mother’s words; but she is young still. “Go to dinner and eat your fill. Enjoy the fine things my attendants are allowed. Forget your pride. You shall not betray your family by doing so.”

The thought is tempting, but Father warned before she left his house that the Queen Mother could lure the moon from the sky if it made the mistake of listening to her crafty words. Shakti summons what sullenness remains desperately. “And if I don’t? If I should starve and sob and—”

The Queen Mother raises an imperious hand to halt her in mid-sentence. “If you are determined to destroy your happiness,” she says, “then that is no concern of mine. Do as you please, child; such is my word, and my word is the law.”

For years Shakti believes this.

*

Her position in the Queen Mother’s household is awkward, to say the least. She is too old to be treated as a child alongside the princes: pampered and privileged and everyone’s pets. She is too young to be trusted with the responsibilities of a lady-in-waiting: to run messages and report rumors and keep the Queen’s confidences. Instead Shakti hovers on the periphery, half-forgotten at the best of times.

She doesn’t mind. Years in her father’s household have taught her that it is not so bad to be a shadow, to lurk just out of sight of the light there: safer to remain out of reach of any word or blow. 

Also, to have nothing required of her means that she can sneak away to the armory, grab herself in mail and swing a sword wildly as though the survival of the state rests on her shoulders. Unlike at home, Grandmother won’t frown and rail at her mother for raising an unnatural child, and if her clothes are ripped and soiled, she can simply leave them in the communal wardrobe to be replaced. 

She prides herself on her stealthiness, at least until the day the Queen Mother reaches for another grape from the bowl Shakti holds and remarks, apropos of nothing: “By the Almighty, child, if that is the best you can do with your posture, you’ll fall over the first time you face a rival in a real duel.” 

The bowl falls from Shakti’s suddenly numb fingers; only the Queen Mother’s reflexes save it from shattering on the floor.  

Shakti squares her shoulders, expecting nothing less than a stern admonition about the dignity that royal attendants must uphold; but the Queen Mother only looks amused. 

“And here I expected you to master warfare without needing a weapons-master at all,” she says, the words somehow a compliment rather than a complaint. “I will have to speak with Kattappa.”

She smiles, and that is Shakti finds impossible to explain to anyone else or even herself, later: how such a simple shift of the lips brings such brilliance to the Queen Mother’s eyes, how for a heart-stopping moment it seems the Queen Mother deems you alone worthy of all else in the world. 

Shakti begins training with Kattappa the next morning; humiliatingly, this is beside the Queen Mother’s son, striplings who reach only halfway to her shoulder. Prince Baahubali is kind, making space for her alongside his friends; but Prince Bhallaladeva is not, regarding her progress with cool appraisal. 

She advances quickly, much to her relief, and before she knows it, she has earned the privilege of private lessons. She is not trained for warfare, Kattappa explains, but for the intensity of single combat. She believes this is only because of her preferences, or perhaps her aptitudes, but she underestimates the Queen Mother’s canniness in doing so. 

“A female bodyguard,” says the Queen Mother, as though it should be obvious. “Far more circumspect and seemly than leading a battalion of soldiers everywhere I must go. Why else would you think I had you properly taught?”

But Shakti is older by then, and has heard enough whispers of how the Queen Mother has a habit of protecting children—not to mention having seen living proof in the form of Prince Baahubali— to suspect something of her true intentions in allowing Shakti to realize her dreams of defense, or even in plucking Shakti from her father’s household to begin with. 

She admits nothing of this to the Queen Mother: none of it need be said. She only accepts the armor and plain adornments and arms she is granted, and swears herself to the Queen Mother’s service. 

*

The years pass, and Shakti becomes accustomed to standing at her Queen’s side. Others become accustomed to finding her there, as well; Shakti no longer cringes at their stares and subtle insinuations. Without the Queen Mother’s presence, she would not dare stand before them, and the thought brings a rare smile to her face: just who is protecting whom?

She is not the only one who holds her head higher because of the Queen Mother. Women and children roam the markets freely; rich and poor alike take pride in their motherland. The city prospers, the Court bows before the Queen Mother, and Shakti is content. 

And then the princes come of age. 

Shakti supposes she has always known they must replace the Queen Mother someday; after all, the throne is theirs by right of blood, and not hers. But she can’t help but resent them for it, fairly or not: if blood was all that was required to establish the right to rule, the Queen Mother had paid the price, in childbed and in battle. Still, one of them must supplant their mother, and Shakti, along with the rest of the Court, watches them carefully.

Prince Baahubali is kind as ever, made entirely of mirth and mercy; and Prince Bhallaladeva is not, controlled and clever and calculating, but Shakti has never wanted kindness. Mahishmati needs a firm hand to follow the path the Queen Mother has carved for them. To waver from her example by developing harebrained ideas of his own, as the younger prince seems bent on doing, would mean their doom. 

When the trials to determine the next heir are held, Shakti’s heart flies into her throat and prays for Prince Bhallaladeva’s victory. 

When they are determined to end in a draw, Shakti’s only consolation is the look of satisfaction on the Queen Mother’s face. 

When the Kalakeya invasion ends, and Amarendra Baahubali is declared the next King, Shakti’s surge of patriotic pride ebbs in favor of growing discomfiture. Her expression is impassive as ever, but she cannot keep many secrets from the Queen Mother, and that night, as Shakti is performing her routine examination of the Queen Mother’s bedroom, the other woman murmurs: “You are not pleased.”

It is not a question, yet Shakti still feels the need to answer. “No,” she says, hoping that will be enough. 

“I am,” replies the Queen Mother, as though that should change everything. Shakti wishes it did not. “I am proud that Prince Baahubali has proven himself worthy of the education I gave him. I am relieved that I have not proven myself unworthy of the obligation I took up twenty-five years prior. I am pleased that Mahishmati has not proven itself ungrateful.”

The rebuke is obvious. Shakti looks aside, but does not allow that to dissuade her. “It is not ingratitude, but uncertainty—“

“My son has not disappointed me yet, much less disobeyed me!” the Queen Mother snaps, composure lost. If she were any other woman, Shakti would say that she sounds frightened. “So long as he draws breath, he shall not.”

*

But he does, and spectacularly at that. 

For Mahishmati’s sake, Shakti is relieved that Prince Baahubali forfeits the crown by his reckless marriage; for the Queen Mother’s sake, she is heartsick. Prince Baahubali seems to take all the Queen Mother’s happiness with him, leaving her a shell of her former self. She is as wise as ever, and as strident, but her smiles show themselves seldom, and the satisfaction Shakti had seen on her face the night Prince Baahubali was proclaimed the King-to-be not at all.

So much for Baahubali’s kindness, Shakti scoffs to herself, to turn his back on the mother who loved and cared for him—or so she concludes until she witnesses Baahubali come to inform the Queen Mother that his wife is with child. Even Shakti cannot help but smile at his enthusiasm as he does so: one might think that his wife had invented the notion of a child herself solely to please him, he appears so awestruck. 

As much as Shakti wants to blame him, she cannot deny that his face is eager and open when he looks at his mother; it is hers that is stony and silent as she studies him. She dismisses him with the most half-hearted of congratulations, and only as he departs, clearly disappointed, does the Queen Mother allow any expression to spread across her features. 

“She’s made him hers for eternity now,” the Queen Mother pronounces at last, as if that is the only detail of any significance in her son’s news. Her voice is as carefully unconcerned as though she only considers a blunder one of her political opponents has made in Court; her eyes still blaze with emotion. “He’ll never see sense again.”

Shakti studies the woman before her and wonders when she was lost.

*

Only after the Princess’s disastrous _seemantham_ does Shakti dare voice her concerns.

“Perhaps,” she ventures, “it might be prudent not to alienate the Prince and his wife further.” 

“It was not I,” the Queen Mother responds icily, “who incited any argument. I performed my duty as I should.” 

And that, Shakti wonders, might be the problem. She has no special interest in children herself, but the Queen Mother is known for her affection and care for them. Anyone else might attend a _seemantham_ only as a matter of state, but not the Queen Mother; to such a woman, the welcoming of a grandchild would be a delight, not a duty. Baahubali knows this. So does his wife. 

“I have done myself no dishonor,” declares the Queen Mother, and as always, Shakti does her best to believe her. 

She seeks out Prince Baahubali instead. If only he would set aside his stubbornness—if only he would admit to his mother that she was right and he was wrong, it would all come right again. Shakti is sure of that. She has to be. 

But Prince Baahubali only looks sadly at her. “I cannot,” he says, as though genuinely sorry to refuse her. “To do so would be to disobey my mother’s teachings, and I would sooner die than disappoint her.” 

This family! Shakti has never seen another so single-mindedly bent on its own destruction. 

She turns to go but looks back instead at Baahubali, another child who owes his health and honor and happiness to the Queen Mother, and thinks for the first time: Sivagami has a habit of protecting children, that is true enough, but only so long as they remain loyal to her. 

The shame of it makes her feel sick inside; but there’s no denying the statement’s truth, not when Sivagami will not meet her beloved foster son’s eyes as she banishes him. 

Baahubali strides from the court, and it is as though Shakti’s confidence in the woman she protected and respected and loved goes with him. That very evening she extends her resignation from her duties; Sivagami accepts. 

Later, she will hear of the carnage: of the King’s attack on his mother and the arrow that made its way into her unshielded back. Later she will wonder what might have changed had she remained by Sivagami’s side. 

Now there is only this: Shakti, free of her obligation to silence, pleading with Sivagami to make her peace with her son. She would not betray her pride in doing so; she might instead regain some of that joy which had fled the place— 

But an imperious hand silences her, and Shakti swallows. 

“Very well,” she says, mouth dry. “If you are determined to destroy your happiness, then that is no concern of mine.” 

* 

Shakti does not spend twenty-five years mourning. She is fortunate enough not to be forced into imprisonment or hiding. Instead she is able to roam the borders of the kingdom and do what good for its people that she can. She works odd jobs, and eats new foods, and even learns to set aside her silence when she must. It is not the life she expected to lead, but not a bad one, nonetheless. 

When the word comes that Sivagami’s grandson has returned to set right what went wrong with her death, Shakti seeks him out. Her hands might have grown gnarled, but they are no less capable of gripping a sword. Her feet might swell and ache, but they do not falter in the field of battle. If she could not protect the Queen Mother in life, the least she can do is protect the dream she created for Mahishmati. 

But more than that, Shakti thinks she can convince the son of Baahubali of the sort of woman his grandmother had been: responsible for his parents’ pain to be sure, but also for taking him down the river to safety. The architect of Mahishmati’s grandeur, but also of its downfall. Clever and proud and kinder than anyone imaginable —the sort of woman who deserves to be remembered forever in legend. 

Mahendra Baahubali, that last child Sivagami protected at the cost of her own life, may be ignorant of that woman; Shakti is determined to ensure it is not so. After all: 

* 

The last words the Queen Mother says to Shakti, eyes downcast in her anger and her despair, are: “Go, then. Leave me be.” 

And Shakti holds her hand to her heart to swear: “Never.”

**Author's Note:**

> * _Asi_ : in the _Mahabharata_ as the personification of the first weapon ever created, meant to be a sword destined for the destruction of evil. For more details, [see the Wikipedia page!](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asi_\(Mahabharata\))  
>  * Shakti is, of course, the unnamed female bodyguard who can be seen in most scenes with Sivagami in the majority of the flashback. That said, she pointedly does not appear before the princes are fully grown and is not seen again after Baahubali's banishment, so I simply had to speculate as to where and why she left!  
> * _seemantham_ \- Tamil name for the baby shower held for Devasena in the movie.


End file.
